


Cold Feet

by AmyViolet



Category: Glee
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28301676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyViolet/pseuds/AmyViolet
Summary: Sam has been in love with Blaine for a long time now. There's always some reason he can't tell him.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Sam Evans
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44





	Cold Feet

It’s raining when Sam exits the subway station. He didn’t wear a winter coat since it was supposed to be unseasonably warm—which he guesses it is, technically, for December—but with the wind and now the rain, _above freezing_ doesn’t exactly count as balmy. He zips up his hoodie and puts the hood up, even tying it so it won’t keep being blown down, and walks home much faster than he has been lately. For the last week or so he’s been dawdling on his way home from work, trying to work up the courage to tell Blaine that…

It’s been a year now—a year and six days, to be exact—since Blaine and Kurt called off their engagement. They had been fighting a lot before that, and of course the holidays are stressful or whatever, and so Sam didn’t want to make a move or anything because he figured they were probably going to make up in time to spend Christmas together. Or, when that didn’t happen, New Year’s.

And even after New Year’s came and went, Sam still didn’t want to add to the drama and have Kurt and everyone else blame him for the breakup. Not that anyone would have had any reason to blame him—he never, ever did anything to undermine the relationship, he never even _said_ anything, even when it was super obvious to him that Kurt didn’t appreciate Blaine enough or treat him well enough or deserve him in any way. He wanted to, but he was afraid he'd be doing it for the wrong reason. And also he knew he probably wasn't objective. Supposedly there are two sides to every argument, but Sam could only ever see Blaine's side—in fact, he was more biased in Blaine's favor than Blaine himself was. Anyway, there wasn’t actually too much drama about the breakup. Both of them seemed happier afterward, and none of their friends really even took sides. Everyone seemed to agree that it was for the best.

Still, though, Sam didn’t want to be Blaine’s rebound. Those never last.

But Blaine’s had his rebound now—he's had two and a half, in fact: first a fling with some guy in his dance class, then a hook-up with some guy he met at a bar (that’s the one that Sam only counts as a half), and then what was supposed to be just a hook-up with some guy he met on Grindr but turned into them dating for over a month.

It’s Grindr Greg (Greg isn't his real name, but Sam has always refused to ever use his real name or even acknowledge that he remembers it’s Jon) that scared Sam into realizing that he has to act before Blaine meets someone who he might get serious about. 

He has to figure out how to do it, though, what to say _exactly_. Every day he’s been telling himself he’ll think up something on his way home and then say it as soon as he walks in the door, and every day he manages to chicken out before he even climbs the stairs to the apartment. 

He always pictures it something like this: He'll be sitting on the couch with Blaine and maybe take his hand or something. Then realizes he can’t take Blaine’s hand without explaining anything first, so he goes back and imagines the same scenario but without taking Blaine’s hand. And then he thinks he’ll say something like, “Blaine, listen, I have something to tell you so please don’t interrupt.” And Blaine will promise, and then Sam will say something like, “I really like you, Blaine, I mean you know that, obviously, because we’re best friends…”—that’s right, Sam literally can't imagine getting through his speech without babbling like an idiot—“…but I don’t mean that I just _like_ you, I mean that…I mean that I’m in love with you, and I know you’re not in love with me, but maybe you could be, I mean maybe someday, or maybe you’d like to, you know…” And then he’ll trail off, even in his own imagination, and Blaine will just look at him like he doesn’t understand. Or say he does somehow manage to get Blaine to understand. Then there's the problem that Blaine will be mad that he didn’t tell him all this when Blaine confessed _his_ feelings back in high school. Or that he didn't ever bother to come out as…as what, gay? bi? And how could he not have even told Blaine _that_ much, aren't they best friends? And Sam won’t have an answer to that.

But tonight, speed-walking home and distracted by the cold and the wind and the rain, he doesn’t even have time to attempt to plan his words. This is so much better, he realizes as he climbs the stairs to the apartment. He will just walk in and start talking, and, yes, he will mess it up, but at least he’ll finally get it out.

“Blaine?” he starts before he’s even got the front door all the way unlocked. “Hey, can we…” He trails off when he sees Blaine isn’t on the couch where he’s usually studying when Sam gets home. “Blaine?” he calls again, louder this time.

“I’m in the kitchen, Sammy!”

Sammy? That’s weird: Blaine only calls him Sammy when he’s drinking. 

Sam goes into the kitchen and there’s Blaine, sitting at the table with a bottle of Malibu in front of him. Blaine doesn’t usually drink on weeknights. He doesn’t drink that often on weekends either—it’s why fruity forty-proof rum affects him as much as it does. “Is everything okay?” 

“Can’t you even tell?”

“That you’re drunk? I mean, it is why I asked if you’re okay.”

“I’m not drunk, silly,” Blaine tells him with a giggle. “Okay, a tiny bit tipsy maybe. But I’m only drinking to stay warm. Can’t you tell it’s freezing in here?”

“Is it?” Sam is still cold, but he just came inside and he’s still wet so he didn't think anything of it.

“Yes, Sammy!” Blaine rolls his eyes at him. “It was super cold when I got home, so I cranked the thermostat to eighty. That didn’t do anything, so I asked the neighbors and guess what! Turns out the heat is out for the whole building. That’s why I’m drinking and baking. Drunk baking!”

Sam doesn't smell anything baking. “I didn’t know we even had any baking ingredients.”

“We don’t. By baking I mean heating up last night’s leftovers. In the oven!”

“Didn’t we have soup last night? I didn’t know you _could_ reheat soup in the oven.”

“I’m probably not going to actually eat it. I just don’t think you’re supposed to have the oven on with nothing in it. I thought about putting my sheets in there so they'll be warm when I go to bed, but…”

“That sounds like a good way to start a fire.”

“Don't worry, I’m not drunk enough to actually try it.”

“How drunk are you?”

“Drunk enough that I want you to take off your clothes and drink with me!”

“Oh! Uh…” Blaine must be way drunker than he seems. He does get a little flirtier than usual when he drinks, but he’s never actually asked Sam to take his clothes off before. And while Sam would love nothing more than to get naked with Blaine sometime, it doesn't seem like a great idea _right now_. “That drunk, huh?”

“What do you…” Blaine gets the giggles again. “No, I’m not hitting on you, Sammy! I just think you should change into some dry clothes before you sit down with me and do some shots.”

“Oh. Right.” 

So Sam goes to the bedroom to change. It really is pretty cold in here—Blaine has the right idea hanging out in the kitchen with the oven on. He puts on some sweatpants, the Tennessee Titans sweatshirt his parents sent him for Christmas (which he didn’t realize he was supposed to save for Christmas at the time he was opening it), and the warmest socks he can find. If the heat doesn’t come back on soon, he’ll have to sleep like this, he guesses, not just underwear like usual. 

It really sucks that of all the nights, Blaine had to be drinking on the one when Sam was really, actually going to tell him how he feels. 

Or is the fact that Blaine is drinking just another excuse? He isn’t really _that_ drunk, is he? And anyway it’s not like there’s some rule saying you can’t tell people things when they’re drinking.

He goes back into the kitchen and starts, “Hey, so…”

But Blaine has just at the moment started playing some music on his phone, so he probably doesn’t even hear Sam, he’s probably not intentionally cutting him off when he stands up and commands: “Dance with me!”

So, okay. Blaine is at the dancing stage of being drunk. Not that Blaine never dances sober, but when he’s drinking and starts dancing at an inappropriate time or in an inappropriate place—their apartment’s tiny kitchen with barely enough room for two people to _stand_ in, in this case—he's far enough along that he’s probably beyond having a meaningful conversation.

Sam coaxes Blaine out into the living room, which is also small but not so small that it’s _impossible_ to dance in. Before joining him, and when he’s sure Blaine isn’t watching, he turns the oven off and puts the soup back in the fridge, even though he's not sure it's worth saving.

Watching Blaine dance never fails to do stuff to Sam. Dancing _with_ him is even worse (slash better), especially when Blaine is drunk and flirty and starts dancing dirty. Blaine twerks and grinds on him, and Sam wishes he could dance with Blaine the way Blaine’s dancing with him. He even wishes he’d had some of that Malibu that Blaine offered him so maybe he’d be less successful at resisting this desire. Not that he’s as sexy a dancer as Blaine is, even with his White Chocolate moves, but still it would be nice.

Maybe he should try to encourage Blaine to tone it down a smidge. But then what if Blaine stops dancing altogether? Then he’d have to go back to reheating soup in the oven to keep warm. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, but…Oh, but then he’d also be drinking more, if he were just sitting there, which _could_ be bad. 

They dance for over an hour—Blaine increasingly provocatively—before Blaine says he’s getting tired. It’s past eleven, which is when Blaine usually goes to sleep on weeknights, so him being tired wouldn’t be surprising even without the dancing. “Yeah,” Sam says, “I think I’ll go to bed too. You can have the bathroom first though.”

“No, no, no, Sammy,” Blaine says. “I’m not going to _bed_. Silly. Then I’d really freeze. I just need to not dance so hard for a minute.” He puts on some slow song that Sam doesn’t know and holds his arms out for Sam to slow dance with him. Sam should decline, but...He does try to keep some distance between them, like he’s a terrified seventh-grader at his first school dance. But Blaine pulls him close like they’re boyfriends at prom. 

Blaine rests his head on Sam’s shoulder. “This is nice, Sammy. Right?”

“Super nice, Blaine,” Sam manages. 

Blaine lets his hand slide off Sam’s shoulder and down to the small of his back. Then he looks up at Sam and actually tilts his head up like he’s going to kiss him. Sam tilts his head down like he’s going to kiss him back…

There’s a knock at their door. The two guys spring apart. They look at each other awkwardly before Blaine remarks, “The music’s not even that loud.” 

“Maybe it was the dancing.” Sam peers through the peephole, and it’s their neighbor Tina from down the hall. Much like Tina One (the one from high school), Tina Two has a bit of a crush on Blaine. Sam considers not answering, but then Blaine would ask why he didn't. He opens the door and says, “Sorry, too loud?”

“What? No, I just got home and it’s freezing. The temperature is supposed to keep dropping all night so I'm worried. Is your heat off too?”

“Yeah. Whole building.”

“What the hell! Have you complained already?”

Sam looks at Blaine, who answers, “Yeah, a bunch of times. _Soooo_ many times! But not in a while, maybe it’s time to call again.” He starts patting down his body looking for his phone, which is on the coffee table.

Tina walks in, picks up the phone, and puts her arm around Blaine’s shoulder. Sam has the totally inappropriate urge to tell her to get her hands off his man. “Looking for this?” she asks sweetly, adding, “Are you drunk?”

Blaine laughs way harder than the question calls for. “Is it super obvious? But no, it’s not my fault. I had to. I mean I’ve only been drinking to keep warm. Because…” He whispers this next part like it’s some big secret: “The heat is out and it’s super, super cold in here.”

“Oh, Blaine, honey.” Sam has to turn away so neither of them will see the face he’s making at that _honey_. “You shouldn’t drink for warmth. Alcohol actually _lowers_ your core temperature.”

“No, but…” Blaine looks extremely confused. “But now I feel nice and toasty.”

Sam doesn’t want to take Tina’s side, so he doesn’t point out that he’s probably toasty mostly from the dancing.

“Yeah, it might make you _feel_ warmer, but that’s because alcohol just makes all the blood go to your extremities. But that means it’s diverting the blood away from your core.” She pauses and studies Blaine. “I guess it goes to your face too, because, look, you’re all flushed.” And then she actually freaking _touches_ Blaine’s cheek.

“Okay,” Sam says, putting his arm around Tina’s shoulder and ushering her back to the door. “Thanks for the science info. Good night now.” 

Tina successfully gotten rid of, Sam turns back to Blaine. He knows their moment—if it was one—is over, but he decides that if Blaine mentions it, he will confess. 

Blaine almost looks like he’s going to mention it, but instead he announces, “I have to pee. Then I guess I will go to bed after all.”

“Yeah, me too. You’re feeling okay, though? Need me to get you some aspirin for later?” 

Blaine thinks about it. “No, I’m at the exact maximum level of drunkenness for being able to wake up fine.” Blaine, for someone who doesn’t drink that often, has an amazing ability to judge whether he’s going to be hung over the next morning, so Sam doesn’t doubt his assessment.

When Sam goes into the bedroom after his turn in the bathroom, Blaine is already in his bed and has turned the light off. It’s never totally dark in there, though, and Sam can see that he has the covers up to his ears and his winter coat spread on top of the comforter. He looks so cute, even in just the dim light from the street. Sam really wants to lean down and kiss his forehead. Well, it's not the way he _really_ wants to kiss him, but it's a way Blaine probably wouldn't object to. Still, he doesn't do it.

He’s lying there, not asleep yet but thinking Blaine is, when Blaine whispers, “Sammy!”

Sam laughs. “It’s okay to use your normal voice, Blaine, you’re not gonna wake anyone up.”

“Oh, right,” Blaine says, still in a whisper. “I just realized someone should turn the oven off.”

“I did that already.” He anticipates what Blaine will probably think of next and adds, “And I put the soup back in the fridge.”

“You’re the best, Sammy! Okay, good night.”

“Night, Blaine.”

Several minutes pass, but this time Sam knows Blaine isn’t asleep because he’s kicking at something under his blankets. 

“Sammy!” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“I noticed. What’s wrong?”

“I have socks on!”

What? “And they’re itchy?” Sam guesses.

“No. Not exactly. They’re just…you know I can’t sleep with socks on!”

Huh. Sam has noticed, now that he thinks about it, that Blaine doesn’t generally sleep with socks on, but he didn’t know that he _can’t_. “Why not?”

“Ugh! They’re just so…Didn’t I ever tell you about how when I was little my mom used to put me in those footie pajamas and I hated them so much that I snuck the scissors out of the drawer and cut all the feet off and she was super, super mad at me?”

“No, you never told me that.” Sam is sure he would remember that story if he'd heard it before. “So that was your biggest childhood rebellion, huh?”

“Well, my first anyway.”

Sam makes a mental note to ask about the other ones sometime. “Well, if you’re worried about your mom saying ‘I told you so,’ I promise to never tell her.”

“No, but I hate them, Sammy! I hate them!”

“Oh. Well…”

“I know! Lend me some of your pajamas, and they’ll be too long and go down over my feet! Oh. Wait. You don’t wear pajamas. Do you even own any?”

“No. That's a good idea though. Here.” He wriggles out of his sweatpants and tosses them over.

“But now you’ll freeze.”

“No, it barely even feels cold in here to me,” Sam lies.

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, seriously. Remember when I went to school in just shorts in the middle of winter and you thought I’d be cold but I was actually fine? I just run hot.”

“But that’s not why you did it.”

“Sure it is. Why do think I always sleep in my underwear?”

“Because you’re an exhibitionist!”

Blaine knows him really well, but Sam doesn’t admit he's right. “Exhibitionist, pshaw. I’m totally fine. I won’t put them back on anyway, so you might as well.”

Blaine hesitates, then takes them. “I still don’t believe you, but thank you. You’re such a sweetheart.”

Freezing all night is pretty much worth it just for Blaine calling him a sweetheart, even if it is just the Malibu talking. “My pleasure.”

Blaine puts the sweatpants on without getting out from under his blankets. It takes a while, but eventually he quiets down.

Sam curls himself up for warmth and tries to go to sleep. He’s just drifting off when there's a thud and Blaine goes, “Damn it!”

Sam sits up. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, Sammy. I was just getting up to have some more rum, but I tripped over your sweatpants and bumped into the wall.”

“That’s probably a good sign that you shouldn’t have any more rum. Anyway, won’t you have a hangover tomorrow if you drink any more?”

“Yeah, but…Do you think Tina Two was right? About alcohol making your ex… extreminies…extremities warm? Because that’s what I need, because feet are extrenimies, that’s what _extra enemies_ …ha ha I said _extra enemies_...that’s what _extra..._...whatever, that's what that word means! And the sweatpants aren’t working.” 

“But she’s probably not even right. Just because someone’s a know-it-all doesn’t mean they actually know it all.”

“Oh." Blaine leans against the wall. "Well then, I hate to ask, Sammy, but I do have another idea. What if…like, what if we…shared body heat?”

Oh God. “Don’t be silly. I mean, it’s silly to hate to ask. Of course you can ask. I mean, you already did ask, and it’s a good idea. Not just asking is a good idea, sharing body heat is a good idea. Come on in.” He moves over toward the wall and lifts the blankets.

Blaine climbs out of Sam’s sweatpants—with some awkwardness, because he doesn’t take off the blanket he’s wrapped up in first—and Sam sees that he still has his pajama pants on under them. Blaine doesn’t think to give the sweats back, he just leaves them on the floor, and Sam doesn’t feel like he can ask for them after claiming he wasn’t going to wear them anyway. But Blaine does put his blanket on top of Sam’s, and when he gets under the covers it’s totally warm enough.

Sam turns onto his side and pushes his back all the way against the wall to give Blaine as much room as possible in the single bed. Blaine lies on his side facing him. For a second, a look crosses Blaine’s face that reminds Sam of the look earlier, when they were slow dancing. But it’s pretty dark, and Sam probably imagined whatever he thought he just saw. Still, the urge to kiss Blaine hits him so strongly that he decides he’d better sleep on his other side, facing the wall instead of Blaine. Blaine also turns onto his other side, though probably just to be more comfortable, not for the reason Sam had to change positions.

“Do you have enough room?” Sam asks. “Are your feet warm enough?”

“Uh…I’m sure they’ll warm up soon.”

Sam considers it for a moment and decides it’s okay to say, “You can put them on me if you want.”

“No. Like I said, I’m sure it’ll just take a minute.” Blaine kicks a bit under the blankets. “But if you’re sure.”

“I’m one hundred percent sure.”

Blaine puts his feet against Sam’s legs almost before Sam’s finished answering. Sam doesn't mind how cold they are or even how uncomfortable it is when Blaine wedges them all the way in between his knees. “You’re the best,” Blaine says sleepily. “I love you, Sammy.”

Sam waits until he can tell from Blaine’s breathing that he’s asleep before he answers, “I love you too, Blaine.”

Some time in the night the heat comes back on. Sam wakes in just his underwear, having managed to take off his sweatshirt and socks in his sleep. Even so, Blaine feels hot against his back. Their legs have untangled, and now Blaine is spooning him.

Whenever Sam imagines spooning with Blaine—which was already kind of a lot even before last night when he lay awake wishing he could just roll over and do it—he always pictures himself as the big spoon and Blaine as the little spoon. He's not sure why, maybe just because of their heights. This is nice though. Way better, in fact, since now he doesn’t have to worry about popping a boner and having Blaine notice it against his butt.

He _has_ popped a boner, of course. How could he not, with Blaine holding him, with Blaine’s dick pressed right up against him? He’s just glad that this way Blaine doesn’t have to know.

“’S getting hot in here,” Blaine mutters in his sleep.

“So take off all your clothes,” Sam can’t help himself from adding.

“Huh?”

Oh, crap, Blaine isn’t actually asleep. He was probably like half asleep, and now that Sam had to go and open his big mouth, he'll probably wake all the way up and want to get out of the bed. It's for the best and everything, but still, damn it!

“Sam?” Blaine asks, sounding confused.

“Yeah. You slept in my bed because your feet were cold. Remember?”

“Oh right. And now…” Blaine scoots to the very edge of the bed. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. No big deal.”

“Huh. Weird that we ended up…I mean, I would have guessed you to be a big-spoon guy.”

“I can be the big spoon if you want,” Sam blurts out.

He’s not sure he hears right when Blaine says, “Okay.” But then Blaine rolls onto his other side and says, “I bet you’re a really nice big spoon.”

Sam rolls over too, even though he knows he shouldn't even be considering it. “It’s probably not a great idea, actually. I’ve kind of got…” 

“Ha ha, morning wood?”

“More like Blaine wood,” Sam thinks.

“Huh? I'd what?”

“Huh?”

“You said, ‘Blaine would…’”

“For real? I said ‘Blaine wood’ out loud? Oh crap!”

“Oh! You mean…” Blaine turns over to face him.

What the hell, Sam decides, he might as well go ahead now. “See, the thing is...I’ve been meaning to tell you this forever. But really for like a week, but only because that’s how long it’s been a year since…but in another sense I’ve been meaning to tell you for the whole year, but I guess I was just too scared to because…I mean, I would have told you even before a year ago but you were still engaged to Kurt then and you can’t just tell your best friend who assumes that you’re completely straight and who once had feelings for you but you were too dumb back then to realize you had feelings for him too…I mean, if that best friend is engaged to another guy, you can’t just tell him you’re in love with him, because then he probably won’t even want to stay friends with you and that would be the worst thing that could possibly happen.”

“Sam.” Blaine rests his hand Sam’s elbow.

“Let me finish, okay?” The hand on his elbow reassures him that Blaine doesn’t hate him, or at least not yet. He realizes he’s not making much sense, so there’s still a good chance Blaine doesn’t really understand and that he will hate him when he does. But now that he's started letting stuff out he feels like he should just keep going.

“Okay.”

“So…” Even this brief pause has thrown Sam off a little. This would be easier if he were still facing the wall, he thinks. He’s been scared to look Blaine in the eye—he’s been talking this whole time to Blaine’s chest—but he does take a quick peek now. Blaine doesn’t look freaked out, so he continues. “So, yeah, I’m in love with you, and I have been for a long time, and I just wish I had been when you had your crush on me back in high school, but…or, rather, I think I was but I just didn’t realize it yet, or…I don’t know, but by the time I really knew, and by the time I _knew_ I knew—cause, you know, I always thought I was straight, and I was kind of late to my first guy crush, I guess, which was you in case I’m not being clear—but then when I figured it out you were already engaged to Kurt, so…”

“And I’m sorry I never came out to you. Well, not before now anyway. I guess it’s obvious I’m telling you I figured out I'm bi, but in case it’s not, hey, Blaine, I figured out I’m bi. And, like, hopefully you can understand why I didn’t tell you how I felt about _you_ when you were still with Kurt, because I didn't want to interfere if you were happy, but that doesn’t really explain why I didn’t tell you in general that I don’t exclusively like girls, and, I mean, I don’t know. I guess I thought it would be awkward? Like, you probably would have asked me how I realized it and then…I wouldn’t have wanted to _lie_ to you about it being because of you, but…And then, like, even if that didn’t come up, would you have wanted to—I don’t know—discuss guys that we think are hot? Because mostly my answer is you.”

Sam lies perfectly still, eyes still on Blaine’s chest, waiting for a response. He’s even holding his breath, which he realizes at the same time that he realizes Blaine probably isn't sure he's done. “That's it.”

Blaine brushes some hair behind Sam’s ear, and Sam feels like he’s going to die. He’s not, though; he’s breathing again and everything. Finally, Blaine says, “ _Mostly_ your answer is me? Who else is your answer?”

Sam looks into Blaine’s eyes and actually leaves them there for more than a second. “Blaine, I’m serious.”

“I know you’re serious.” He smiles at Sam. “But I’m curious who else. Jon? Did you think Jon was hot?”

Sam scowls. “That guy was such a douche.”

Blaine rubs his hand up and down Sam’s arm. “I did always wonder if this was why you thought so.”

“You…you already knew everything I just told you?”

“No, not everything. And I didn’t _know_ any of it. I just…it did seem to me like you had feelings. But then, I thought that once before and I asked you about it and you said you didn’t, so—”

“I’m so sorry about that.”

“No, don’t apologize. Thank you for telling me now.” 

Blaine takes Sam’s hand in his.

Still, Sam feels it necessary to ask, “So you don’t hate me now?”

“On the contrary.”

“So…”

“Why do you think I almost kissed you last night?”

“Because you were drunk?”

“Because I was drunk, sure, but only because being drunk makes you do things you want to do anyway but are too inhibited to do sober.” He scoots closer still, as close as he was last night when they were slow dancing, and he puts his hand on the same spot on Sam’s back. “But I’m sober now, and you’re sober, and so if we both want the same thing, there’s no reason to be inhibited. Right?”

“Right.” Sam mentally goes over what Blaine just said, and he thinks he gets it. Still, Blaine's hand touching his bare skin right above his butt is really distracting, so he'd better make sure. “So…does this mean I can kiss you now?”

“Yeah, Sammy. I’d like you to kiss me now.”

Sam leans forward and plants a gentle kiss on Blaine’s lips.

Blaine runs his fingers through the back of Sam’s hair. “Was that as much as you wanted to kiss me? Because if not, you could—”

Sam rolls the two of them so Blaine’s on his back, Sam partially on top of him, and tries again, the way he's _really_ wanted to kiss Blaine for years.


End file.
